


La Vie En Rose

by bella_my_clarke



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: (i think lol? haven't seen 4x07 at this point), Bellarke, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, canon complaint, hug, just soft, soft angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-10-09 13:16:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10412967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bella_my_clarke/pseuds/bella_my_clarke
Summary: There’s a crowd waiting, but he sees only her—face warm and bright in the fading sunlight, hair falling across her face in waves he itches to brush away, eyes wide even from a distance. She stares at him, frozen except for the slow tug of a smile at the corner of her mouth, and he’s struck again by how much he missed her, and how scared he was that he would never get to stop missing her, and how grateful he is that he was wrong.And then he’s running.-Or: bellarke reunites (4x09)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Bellarke has hugged in the middle of day and the dead of night, so it's time they hugged in the evening, with a sunset. The day is ending, the world is ending, but they're beautiful anyway.
> 
> ~
> 
> for @bellamybb on tumblr

The world is ending.

Or it will soon, at least, which is precisely why Bellamy’s driving as fast as he is—he’s not going to let the world end before he sees Clarke again, especially not when he has so much to tell her. The words he meant to say before he left still rest on the flat on his tongue, sharp and bittersweet with hope; he holds them at bay by rolling her reply around in his mouth, telling himself she knew he would come back, she _wants_ him to. That he doesn’t have to be so absurdly nervous to see her again.

He still nearly crashes the rover when he reaches the beach, slamming it to a stop and tumbling out almost before he’s turned off the engine. There’s a crowd waiting, but he sees only her—face warm and bright in the fading sunlight, hair falling across her face in waves he itches to brush away, eyes wide even from a distance. She stares at him, frozen except for the slow tug of a smile at the corner of her mouth, and he’s struck again by how much he _missed_ her, and how scared he was that he would never get to stop missing her, and how grateful he is that he was wrong.

And then he’s running.

Clarke has just enough time to get her arms around his neck before he’s swinging her up into the air, clutching her as tightly as he dares and burying his face against her neck. She nearly crumples against him, as if she’s been saving all her energy for this moment; her fingers dig into his shoulder blades, lips pressing lightly against his collar, and stupidly Bellamy feels tears sting at his eyes because gods above, he _missed_ her. He hides the wetness in her hair.

“Bellamy,” she whispers, throat tight like she’s choking; he wonders absently if he’s holding her too tightly and loosens his grip, but she only tugs him closer, as if he’ll disappear if she allows any sort of space between their bodies. He gets the feeling – of course he does, he’s still processing she’s _here_ – but he also hasn’t gotten a good look at her yet, and he needs to be sure she really is all right, so he slowly (gently, just in case) disentangles himself. Clarke hesitantly follows, settling for resting her hands lightly on his chest as he cups her cheeks and looks her up and down for signs of anything amiss. There are dark hollows beneath her eyes and a heaviness lingering just behind her mouth, but other than that, she appears to be unharmed, and his whole body aches with relief.

After a moment of silence, he realizes Clarke has been inspecting him as well; her eyes wander over the burns and bruises dotting his face, wincing with each movement like she feels them, too. Quietly, she lifts a hand towards the bruise near his mouth, hovering, and then drops it a moment later. Her lips are parted, too, like she wants to say something but doesn’t know how.

Bellamy thinks of when he went out into the black rain, of the last words he told Kane before walking away – _if I don’t come back, tell Clarke I...tell Clarke she’s special, too_ – and of the one terrifying moment when he thought he was really, truly going to die. He thought he would never talk to Clarke again, or hold her hand, or press a sigh of relief to her hair, and getting all that back makes him ache in another way entirely.

“I thought I wasn’t going to see you again,” he confesses, whisper-soft, and strokes Clarke’s cheek with his thumb to assure both of them he was wrong, he’s here, they’re going to be okay.

Absently, Clarke’s fingers draw circles over the material of his shirt, directly over his heart; he’s sure she can feel it beating, sure her tiny smile is because of how hard it’s pounding. “You should listen to me more then,” she murmurs, not losing his gaze for an instant.

The corner of Bellamy’s mouth tugs up instinctively, and he feels warmth seep outwards from his chest like an ache. “Okay,” he agrees; then, softer, more sure, “From now on.”

She stiffens a little, and Bellamy worries he’s said the wrong thing, or too much; then her fingers fist in his shirt slightly and she smiles, lip quivering. “From now on,” she affirms.

For a moment, Bellamy says nothing, suddenly struck by the intimacy they’ve fallen into without realizing—Clarke’s breath is soft on his face, and though her nose nearly brushes his, she shows no sign of retreating. A mix of curiosity and confusion bubbles in his stomach and he leans forward, just barely, just to see.

And then she’s kissing him.

His brain registers nothing but static for a moment, and then he kisses her back, hands curling around her face more firmly while his nose slips across hers to find the right angle. She lifts onto her toes and makes a soft, contented noise in the back of her throat, and if it weren’t for the vague bristles of pain from the burns, Bellamy could believe he’s dreaming right now. He never imagined, never even _dared...._

And yet he’s still here, and Clarke’s still kissing him, and he still feels that _thing_ —that warm, deep feeling rooting him to the earth and assuring him this is right, this is real, this is where he’s meant to me. That with their mouths overlapping and his hands brushing away her hair and their heartbeats finally settling into place, with _Clarke,_ he’s finally home.

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't looked up la vie en rose do it it's so pretty (especially the cover by daniela andrade oh my heck).
> 
> Also if you didn't know the phrase la vie en rose is french, it translates literally as 'life in pink' but the real meaning is basically like life through rosy pink glasses, like everything's a little happier and a little more cheery. Which is what bellarke deserves, and I think that's how they see the world once they can see each other.
> 
> Comments are what keep me out of the Pit of Eternal Writing Torment tbh, I'd never stop editing if it weren't for all you cuties <3


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